X-X-X-X-X
Warning: This chapter contains a detailed description of an execution and is therefore rated M for Mature Audiences.
X-X-X-X-X
Nike was pissed.
Not only had her Captain come back to the ship beaten and bleeding, but now he wanted to go back to the Archipelago. Back to Kizaru and the Pacifistas and the rest of that insane little group of creepy people who were worth more than she'd ever care to think about. She'd thrown an absolute conniption, complete with shouting, copious amounts of curse words (all learned from the former Rear Admiral, oddly enough), and the occasional flying object.
Drake had taken it all, calm as can be, dodging paper weights and medical instruments while simultaneously being patched up by their medic, letting her cool herself down.
Finally, when the last annoyed huff had passed her lips and their doctor had scurried from the room, he'd calmly informed her that they were returning to the Archipelago only to watch the broadcast of Portgas D. Ace's execution, he would be sure to be more careful next time, and she should probably come with them to make sure they didn't draw any undue attention and/or get themselves killed.
She'd glared at him for a few minutes before nodding sharply and striding from the room, grumbling the entire way.
Drake sighed, testing the bandages on his side carefully before standing from his desk chair. He shed his hat, jacket and boots, letting them fall onto the floor to join his cape, which had come off almost as soon as he'd stepped through the door. He flopped rather unceremoniously onto his bed, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. The creak of the ship moving told him that Nike, though unhappy about his decision, was obeying orders. However, the angry shouting that he could hear faintly from above decks told him that she wasn't letting the crew off easily.
He chuckled.
Nike wasn't actually his first mate, but the real thing didn't mind, neither did he, and she acted like one anyway. He let out a breath, closing his eyes. Perhaps a light nap before they reached the island would do him good.
Slowly, he fell into the darkness of sleep. From the fog of his mind, memories surfaced.
X-X-X
- 5 Years Ago
He watched the body swing gently from the noose, disgust and pity and a fresh, deep seated rage bubbling up in his gut. The young man on trial had been a doctor, a civilian who had sworn to care for all who came to him for aid, who'd promised to never do harm.
And he'd kept that promise.
A month before, that same young doctor had taken in a wounded man, grievously injured and close to death. Despite his best efforts, the doctor was unable to save the man's life. Undeterred, he had made the other man comfortable, had dressed his fatal wounds, and had sat with him on his deathbed, keeping him company while he died. Afterwards, he had paid for the man to be given a proper burial in the village cemetery, his headstone resting in the shade of an old tree.
That man had been a pirate.
A month had passed in silence when, suddenly, the young doctor was arrested by Marines, tried for piracy, and sentenced to death. Simply because he had offered medical aide and comfort to a dying stranger.
Drake had heard of it through HQ and, curious about the circumstances, requested that they delay the execution until his arrival.
What he'd seen had shocked and disgusted him.
The young doctor had been beaten, his body bruised and bloody as he was led to the noose, face nearly unrecognizable from swelling and discoloration. He'd been silent the entire way, not uttering a word when asked for his final statement, head held high as the loop of rope was slipped around his neck.
And that was when Drake noticed her.
Standing in the crowd was a young woman: brown hair, light brown eyes, pale skin, thin. There was nothing remarkable about the way she was standing, hands at her sides, feet shoulder width apart.
It was the fact that she was silently crying that made him pause.
Her tears were a sharp contrast to the rest of the audience who, though they knew the doctor, perhaps shared the marine's views on piracy. She didn't scream out when the floor beneath the doctor's feet gave way or when his body twitched in its death throes, like most of the crowd. Even when the corpse hung, motionless, simply swaying to the creak of the rope, she didn't make a sound.
Long after the execution, when the Marines and bystanders had drifted away, she still stood before the platform, simply staring up at the body of the young doctor through tear fogged eyes.
He'd approached her cautiously, moving to stand beside her, watching the body sway: back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
"Who was he to you?" he finally asked quietly, turning blue eyes on her.
Her gaze didn't shift from the corpse when she answered him.
"He was my brother."
Drake felt his heart constrict at the simple words.
Despite everything, the unjust arrest and execution, the beaten form of her loved one, she had not once objected, and it confused him.
"Why didn't you speak out?" he asked. She turned light brown eyes on him, the tear stains on her cheeks shining softly.
"He wasn't ashamed. My brother did what he thought was right and he refused to change his opinion or his views. This was the way he wanted to go." she replied.
Drake stood for several moments, frozen in shock, while those eyes remained on him, piercing into his very soul. He shivered. He felt as though she could see everything within his heart, as though his every thought was being laid bare to her unwavering gaze, and it frightened him. He tore his gaze away, looking back at the body, still swaying softly.
Eventually, the girl, for he still didn't know her name, turned away from the gallows. He turned his head to look at her, watching as she walked away without a word, back towards the town and it's flickering lights.
When she was finally out of sight, he let his eyes slide closed, his heart at war. Everything that he had been taught, the very foundation of his principals, had been shaken.
Inside of him the power that he had so recently gained reared its head, yellow eyes dancing. The great, scaly green beast opened a jaw full of razor sharp teeth, and smiled.
X-X-X
It was midnight when he knocked on the door.
When no one answered, he knocked again, more forcefully this time. Finally, on the third round, the door swung open to reveal the same girl from the execution sight, dressed for bed, hair sleep tousled, eyes blurry and squinting and angry.
They stood there for several moments, simply staring at each other.
Finally, he extended a hand to her, fist closed. She blinked, but extended her own hand, palm up. He dropped something small and heavy into her hand, and she gasped.
The pendant was silver, a dagger wrapped in a pair of entwined snakes within a circle, dangling from a simple black cord.
It was the same necklace their mother had given her brother when he'd become a Doctor, right before her death. The same one the Marine's had confiscated when he'd been arrested.
She blinked, before looking up at the man on her doorstep, suddenly realizing that he wasn't wearing his Marine uniform. Instead, he was dressed casually, in slacks and a button up, but with thick boots and a heavy jacket to ward off the North Blue chill. He looked scruffier without the cap covering his hair, somehow making the "X" on his chin stand out even more.
After several more moments of silence, he spoke.
"I'm leaving. Will you come with me?"
X-X-X
- Present Day
He woke from the dream, jerking up before being reminded, painfully, that he'd recently had a run in with Kizaru, of all people. Flopping back down, he stared up at the ceiling, contemplating.
He wondered what he would have done if she hadn't taken his hand that night.
His musing was interrupted when the door opened.
Most of his crew had the decency to knock, but, again, Nike was different.
She observed him, sprawled across his bed in just his pants and the bandages over his torso, expression unreadable. He blinked. She shook her head at him, before stepping into his cabin and closing the door, bending to pick up his cape and hat.
"We've arrived. The execution's not for a few more hours, but I figured you'd want to get good seats." she said, draping the cape over the back of his desk chair and hanging his hat on a peg on the wall. She crossed her arms, standing next to his bed and eyeing him.
"What?" he asked, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of his bed. She frowned, but shook her head.
"You'll do whatever you want anyway, so I'll just tag along and make sure you don't die." she said, matter-of-factly.
He snorted, tugging on his jacket.
"Like you're not just as stubborn as I am." he said. She sniffed disdainfully.
"Damn straight. Now, let's go."
X-X-X-X-X
/AN/
I love you, backstory. If you're wondering, I imagine that Nike is about 25-26 right before the time skip, so she was around 21 when they first met. Cannon places Drake at 31 during the Sabondy arc, so he would have been about 26 when they first met.
These two have an interesting dynamic to them that isn't present in my other fics. Drake has to be a hardass all the time: around his crew, out in public, when dealing with Kizaru and Pacafistas, etc. But with Nike, he can relax and be vulnerable, which he can't do with anyone else. And she's tough enough to support him when he is weak, but trusts him to support her if she needs the same.
To Rejar: I thought you might like that line. I was trying to think about a way for Nike to show she was a badass without actually shooting someone, and this just came to me. It was too perfect to pass up. Take that, Law. Anyway, I have chapter 4 flushed out and 5 in the works, so they should be coming in the next few days. I'm on a roll with these two.